Wrecked
by pteradactyl
Summary: Stabler and Benson are stranded in a blizzard in Montana of all places, tracking down a suspect's last known relatives, and strange things happen. Yeah that probably wouldn't happen but the story was fun to write... It's my 1st so please excuse mistakes.


Disclaimer:  
Um I'm new to this so everything invented by anyone else, including the characters of Elliot Stabler and Olivia Benson and Law and Order and SVU and anything having to do with Dick Wolf or anyone other than myself has obviously not been invented by me. Also I'm kind of a pteradactyl in age and this is my first fan fiction, so I'm probably guilty of many counts of Out Of Characterness, even though I've watched and rewatched SVU episodes on a regular basis. Oh, and just for fun, my daughter writes here pretty regularly and we decided to write a fic on this same subject the other day when we were snowed in. Anyone who guesses mother/daughter relationship wins, um, a kiss from the virtual Elliott/Olivia or both?

Please don't be too mean to me with comments. I haven't written professionally for years and my ego is smaller than a dust mite.

That said, enjoy. :)

WRECKED

BLOWOUT

"Shit!" Olivia yelled as the car began to spin out of control.

"Into the skid! Steer into the skid!" Elliot shouted.

Olivia ignored the noise from the passenger seat as she kept a death grip on the steering wheel, already turned in the direction of the skid. Despite her efforts, the car spun directly into the oncoming lane. Fortunately, no one else was foolish enough to be driving on Christmas Day in Montana in the middle of a blizzard.

Elliot slammed his foot down hard on the brake that wasn't there. Suddenly he was socked in the chest by what felt like a two-ton air mattress. He didn't even register that he'd just come into contact with the rental car's airbag. His first thought was for his partner.

"Olivia! Are you ok?" he asked, trying to hide the panic in his voice. She didn't look ok. Not at all. Her head was bent backward in a position that terrified him. "Olivia?!" he screamed. "Talk to me. Say something. Anything!"

"Anything," Olivia muttered, barely conscious. "What? What the.. What happened?" she asked.

"Thank God you're all right," Elliott said, his heart starting to resume its normal rhythm. "You skidded into the tree and—"

"I know that" Olivia snapped. "Do you think I'm a two-year-old?"

Elliot was taken aback by his partner's anger, even considering she'd just escaped a nearly fatal accident. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "The conditions are terrible, it could have happened to anyone."

"I _know_ that, you idiot."

Elliot was floored. Olivia's rage upset him even more than the accident. She was never like this. Annoyed, yes. Sarcastic, yes. Occasionally even bitter. But downright rude? Suddenly his partner did the only thing that could have scared Elliot more than her inexplicable fury. She began to cry.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, barely intelligible between her tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I don't know what's wrong with me. I just, I just snapped." She turned to look at Elliot, and exposed a small dent in the left side of her forehead. Maybe two inches long, only a quarter of an inch wide, but enough to scare the shit out of him.

Lump is good, dent is not, he thought, without really thinking about it. What if she's brain-damaged, he thought. Don't people get angry when they're brain-damaged? What should I do? Oh my God, what am I supposed to do?

Stop it, he yelled at himself. Get a grip. Concentrate. Get her out of the car.

Elliot immediately focused on the task at hand. His mind was made for action, not contemplation. "Do you think you can get out of the car so I can drive?" he asked, immediately feeling stupid. He sincerely doubted anyone could drive the car now.

"I certainly can't drive," she added. "I feel like my entire head is still inside that airbag."

That's a good sign, Elliot thought. If she were brain-damaged, she wouldn't be thinking about airbags, right? She's behaving like a perfectly normal person after a car accident. Of course she was angry. She trashed a rental car out in the middle of nowhere, looking for a suspect's last known relative, who'd probably moved decades ago. No one had answered when he'd called from New York. Called! Elliot took his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in 911. Of course nothing happened. No signal. He sighed.

"It was worth a try," said Olivia.

"Can you get out of the car?" he asked again.

"I don't know. I think so."

Elliott looked around to assess the damage. The hood was trashed, although fortunately no smoke seemed to be rising from it. The passenger door was crumpled, too, and he doubted he could get out that way. But the driver's side door seemed fine.

Olivia opened her door, and set one stylishly-clad foot into the snow. Unfortunately, her ankle-high boots didn't do much good in the six inches and mounting snow on the ground. "Cold," she mumbled. "Okay, okay, you don't have to say it. I should have worn my real winter boots. But I didn't anticipate a walk in the snow," she sniped. Elliot was delighted to hear a tone of normal annoyance in her voice. She climbed out of the car and looked around. "I think I see a building up there," she pointed. "It doesn't look too far."

Elliot knew that distances could be deceiving without any context, but there was no need to discourage his city born and bred partner with information he'd learned in the Marines. Instead, he squeezed himself over the console and climbed out of the car next to her. "Fuck it's cold," he said.

"Elliot!"

"I know, I know. I think maybe God makes allowances for language in blizzards in the middle of Middle America." They both laughed at the unintentional pun as if it were the funniest joke they'd heard in years. In fact, Olivia laughed so hard she was in danger of falling over. "Hang on there," Elliot said, as he moved closer so she could lean on him. "You're right about that building," he said. "But I'm not sure how far away it is. Why don't you wait here in the car while I check it out?"

"And risk freezing to death? I think not, asshole. I'm just as capable of walking in the fucking snow as you are."

Silence.

"Oh no, I did it again. Elliot, I'm so sorry. I don't know what's come over me. I guess…" Olivia faltered, looking truly frightened. Her expression made Elliot feel like he had when he'd watched his youngest daughter fall off the top of a slide. "I guess I was scared," she continued, both of them knowing full well that they'd each encountered far more frightening situations than a car wreck in the middle of a snowstorm. "Actually," she said, looking down at her stupid boots, which were already soaked with the snow, "I'd feel better if we stuck together."

Elliot agreed, more out of concern for Olivia's state of mind than anything else. He was wearing big weatherproof boots that came halfway to his knees, so he decided to use his feet as a make-shift snow plow. There was hardly any danger of traffic, so he walked splay-footed in the middle of the road, clearing a path for Olivia as he went.

"Would you please stop looking over your shoulder every two seconds?" Olivia asked after a minute or two. "I'll let you know if I can't keep up."

And how could you do that? Elliot wondered, but he restrained himself and listened carefully for her footsteps. If he concentrated really hard, he could just make them out amidst the wind and the muffling effects of the snow.

Somehow, the building in the distance didn't seem to get closer as quickly as Elliot expected, but the last thing he was going to do was complain about it to Olivia. He was relieved that she was able to follow him, only occasionally reaching an arm out to steady herself on his shoulder. He'd suggest taking a break, but he knew it was sheer momentum that kept them moving, and if they stopped, they might not get started again. He refused to let himself worry, and just concentrated on splaying his feet, sweeping a path, and listening for Olivia's footsteps, over and over, until it became a kind of mantra. Despite his not entirely unserious belief that he and his partner had actually died in the crash, and they were in some sort of Hell, destined to walk like this forever, he did eventually see a turnoff in the road.

The building was actually the larger of several structures, accompanied by what seemed to be a barn and a small shed. Fortunately, the main building looked pretty close to the road. Maybe another hundred feet or so. Olivia was now pretty much leaning on Elliott's back, so he turned around and put his arm around her, supporting most of her weight as they turned into the driveway. He didn't know if he should be concerned or relieved by her lack of protest. When they finally arrived at the porch, Olivia stumbledas she tried to walk up the stairs and Elliot practically carried her to the front door. Which was locked. The house looked deserted, and no one answered Elliot's repeated knocking. He sighed and looked at Olivia.

"Can you wait here a minute while I go around back and see if I can find another way in?" he asked. He let go of his partner for a moment, and was alarmed when she began to totter toward the porch floor. He caught her mid-fall and guided her to an old porch swing. It felt like carrying one of his daughters' ragdolls. Nevermind walking out back, he thought as he made his gloved hand into a fist and punched a jagged hole in the window glass next to the doorway. The department will cover the damages. He reached inside and unlocked the door.

"It's open," he called over his shoulder to Olivia. No response. Oh God, he though. She's passed out. She has a brain injury after all. She could die out here in the middle of nowhere and I can't remember first aid for brain injuries. He forced himself to calm down and carried Olivia inside.

BLOWNOUT 

The inside of the building wasn't much warmer than the outside. The heat was obviously off, and the insulation seemed to be made of corrugated cardboard. Elliott saw a large room with a fireplace off to the right. He carried Olivia toward a couch near the fireplace and practically dumped her onto it. He hated to admit it, but it was pretty hard work carrying her, especially after a long trek in the snow. Olivia yawned and made a half-hearted effort to sit up.

"Your feet are probably," Elliott said. "Why do women wear such stupid shoes in cold weather?" he muttered.

"For the same reason men wear such ugly ones?" Olivia answered, half-awake. She lay back down on the couch and looked like she was curling up to go to sleep. Not a good idea in her current state, Elliot thought. He propped her up against some cushions and started to take her shoes off. "What are you doing?" she mumbled. "Leave my feet alone."

"They're soaking wet! Do you want to catch your death of cold?"

"I'm not one of your daughters. You know that temperature has nothing to do with a cold virus," Olivia said, waking up a bit. "And they zip on the inside," she added. "The buckles are just for show."

"Great," Elliot mumbled, as he took off her boots.

"Don't you dare take anything else off," Olivia said with a smirk.

"I won't," Elliot smiled. He didn't have to fake it. For the first time since the accident, his partner seemed truly herself.

Olivia pulled a crocheted blanket from the top of the couch and wrapped herself up in it. "Do you mind if I rest a bit?" she asked. "I'll help you look for food and whatever later, ok? I'm just so tired."

Of course she's tired, Elliot told himself, satisfied that she seemed coherent. He found a thermostat in the hall, and cranked it up to 80. Let the department pay, he thought. He suddenly noticed he was hungry, and wondered if it would be considered theft to eat whatever food was in the house. We'll replace it, he thought, "we" being the department, again. The kitchen opened off the main hallway, and he found a fairly well stocked refrigerator. The tomatoes were a bit fuzzy, but several chunks of cheese passed muster, and what looked like a homemade loaf of bread was barely stale. Elliot hated the thought of eating homemade food, but he figured he really didn't have much choice. If he looked for canned goods instead, the food might just go bad. Wait a minute, he thought. We won't be here that long, right? Well, a fresh sandwich sounds good anyhow.

He fixed two of them, along with two cans of Coke (he didn't trust the milk, which had an expiration date of two days ago), and clumsily carried them into the living room. He was amazed to find Olivia playing with a huge plastic doll. It was the size of a three-year-old girl.

"Isn't she cute?" Olivia asked, her face beaming. "Her name is Candy. Listen. She pushed a button on the doll and a squeaky voice said "Hi. My name is Candy. Want to play?" Elliot thought there was something creepy about the doll, and something even creepier about Olivia's interest in it, but he chalked it up to post-traumatic stress.

"Adorable," he said. "Have you seen a telephone? I didn't even think to look for one, I was so hungry."

"I'd rather play with Candy," Olivia answered, pushing the button on the doll again.

"Let's sing a song," Candy said. "Do you want to sing with me?"

"Sure," said Olivia. At the same time, Candy started making a sound that could pass for singing: "I'm a little teapot, short and stout."

"Here is my handle, here is my spout," Olivia joined in.

Ok, Elliot told himself. You're delusional. You just walked a mile in the snow after a car crash and you're delusional. This is not happening.

"When I get all steamed up, here me shout. Tip me over and pour me out," Olivia and Candy finished singing together.

"Isn't she adorable?" Olivia repeated. The doll's glazed blue eyes and bright yellow hair struck Elliot as anything but adorable. In fact, the entire room was far from adorable. The yellow crocheted blanket Olivia had drawn around herself was frayed and full of holes, as was the colorless upholstery on the couch. Dirty wood floors were covered with braided rugs that might have once been colorful, but they were so faded they were barely noticeable. Maybe that's because it's so dark in here, Elliot thought. He turned on the floor lamp by the couch. Nothing happened. Blown bulb, he thought hopefully. He walked over to an end table and turned on a particularly ugly porcelain lamp, and the same thing happened. Nothing. Shit, he thought, as he walked over and touched the radiator. Stone cold. Ok. So the power's off. The power line must have been downed by the storm. The fireplace looks like it's been used recently. I'll go look for some firewood. He had completely forgotten about the sandwiches and Cokes. He was about to ask Olivia if she minded if he left her for a moment, but she was busy taking off the doll's clothing.

"Look at her underwear. It's old-fashioned! Isn't it the cutest thing? It's so sweet," Olivia said. Elliot started to sweat. What would be sweet, he thought, was a hospital next door, fully equipped to handle brain injuries. Because there was no room for wishful thinking anymore; Olivia was definitely not ok. And he had a bad feeling that the longer she stayed this way, the worse it would get. Leaving Olivia to play with her doll, Elliot found a back door and saw a neatly piled collection of logs for the fireplace. On closer inspection, the bottom of the pile looked partially disintegrated with age, but the topmost logs looked fine. He picked up as many as he could carry and brought them into the living room.

Olivia hadn't touched her food, but Elliot found her tipping the unopened can of Coke toward the doll's mouth. "Candy likes Coke!" Olivia said happily. Elliot felt like throwing up, but instead he put the logs in the fireplace and realized he didn't have a match. He looked around and found fireplace matches on the mantle. He had a brief thought that he should move them someplace safe; matches shouldn't be left around children. Then he reminded himself sternly that Olivia wasn't a child, merely a traumatized adult, and, after several unsuccessful attempts, he lit a fire.

The fire didn't really do all that much to raise the temperature in the room, but the flames were warm, and their clothes were drying. Olivia had found a comb for the doll's hair and was happily styling it. Elliot didn't have the stomach for his sandwich, but he downed his Coke. He worried about Olivia becoming dehydrated, and told her to drink her Coke, too.

"But Candy wants it," Olivia replied, her eyes as blank as the doll's.

"Why don't you share it? You can drink the real Coke, and the doll can drink the pretend Coke from the can," Elliot suggested, based on many hours of playing with his daughters. When they were years younger than they were now, and decades younger than Olivia.

Olivia seemed to consider this option. "Is that ok with you, Candy?" she asked. She nodded the doll's head up and down, then popped the Coke and gulped it. "I think we'll share the sandwiches, too," she said, shoving half the sandwich into her mouth and chewing messily, cheese and breadcrumbs sticking to her lips. Elliot couldn't stand to watch. Maybe a shock to her system would help, he thought. He went back to the kitchen to collect the largest pots he could find and filled them with water to dump on Olivia. Then he put the pots on the kitchen table and stared into space. What am I doing, he thought. Trying to help my partner die of hypothermia? He sat down on the kitchen floor, put his head in his hands, and began to cry.

BLACKOUT

Elliot had spent the past few hours rounding up candles, flashlights, and blankets. He'd also inventoried the kitchen, and decided there was enough food to last for at least a week, though he prayed they wouldn't need it. He found an old, beat-up looking generator out back behind the shed, but either he didn't know how to use it, or it was long dead. In an attempt to conserve batteries, he'd left the flashlights in the kitchen and walked through the house with a candle, as if he were living in the 1800's. When he couldn't think of anything else useful to do, he returned to the living room.

Olivia was asleep on the couch, holding the doll against her chest. Just the sight of the damned thing made him angry. He tried his cell phone one more time, and still didn't get a signal. He tried both the hall phone and the living room phone one more time, and still didn't hear a dial tone. He stared out the window at the pitch blackness, thinking that it matched his mood exactly. He couldn't stand doing nothing. He knew damned well that letting Olivia sleep after a head trauma was a very bad idea, but he couldn't keep her awake indefinitely, and help didn't seem to be coming any time soon. He sighed and gently shook her shoulders.

"Olivia?" he whispered into her ear.

No response.

"Liv?" he asked a little more loudly.

She stirred slightly, but was nowhere near awake.

"Liv!" he shouted, shaking her by the shoulders.

"Whaa?" Olivia opened her eyes, stared nowhere with a glazed expression, and closed them again.

"**Liv!!!**" Elliot shouted directly into her ear, grabbing Candy and tossing her across the room.

Olivia bolted upright on the couch, her eyes so dark that her irises were indistinguishable from her pupils. "What!!???"

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right," Elliot said, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. "You've been acting pretty strange since the accident."

"Accident?" Olivia asked. "What accident? And where's Candy? I don't see Candy! I want Candy!!!"

Elliot was torn. He didn't understand Olivia's obsession with that strange, somehow repugnant doll, and he certainly didn't want to encourage it, but he was afraid that the panic he saw in his partner's eyes might change into something even more frightening if he withheld the doll. And how could she not remember the accident? What was happening to her? Olivia was slipping away into some strange and frightening place, and he was terrified of losing her.

"Listen, Liv," Elliot said very quietly, taking her hand. "Candy doesn't matter. Cragen flew us out to Montana, and—"

"Yes, she does! She does matter! How can you say she doesn't matter?! Where's Candy? I have to see Candy. Now!" Olivia jumped off the couch and began pacing the room frantically, looking for the doll. Her skin was paler than Elliot had ever seen it, and she had hectic red spots on her cheeks. "Where is she??!!!"

Elliot walked over to the other side of the room, holding the candle, and found Candy. "Calm down, Olivia. Here she is. She's fine. I've got her right here."

Olivia began to run toward Elliot and the doll. She tripped over the rug in the dark and went sprawling into Elliot, knocking both the candle and the doll out of his hands. She grabbed onto the doll's foot and cradled her to her breast, crooning "It's ok, now, Candy. I've got you. You're going to be ok. Nothing bad is going to happen to you anymore. I promise."

Meanwhile the wick of the candle brushed something indistinguishable on the floor, which suddenly burst into bright orange flame. Elliot tried to stamp out the flame, but he was too far away. He was afraid to roll on the fire himself; he'd be no use to Olivia covered with third-degree burns. But he thought he just might be able to put it out if he used the doll as a shield.

"The doll!" Elliot yelled. "Give me the doll!" he repeated, trying to pull it away from Olivia. She wouldn't let go.

"Olivia, for God's sake, let go of the doll!"

He lunged toward his partner, grabbed the doll out of her hands, and held it to his chest as he dropped onto the fire. The heat hurt, but it didn't burn him. His plan was working. The doll was slowly smothering the fire. Candy made a horrible singeing smell as she melted. She landed on her talk button, and sang in an increasingly twisted, hideous voice "tip me over and pour me-ee-ee-ee-eeee" as the flames died down, taking most of the doll with them.

Elliot stamped out the remains of the fire, left the molten mess and made his way back to Olivia. He watched, horrified, as she yelled "Candeeeeee!!!!" and lunged after the doll. He ran after her, and the two of them ended up wrestling on the floor, occasionally getting burnt by a few random dying embers. Finally Olivia accidentally kicked what was left of the doll, making it sing one last gurgling "oouutt." The two detectives lay in the dark on the floor, Olivia curled up crying in a fetal position, and Elliot curled around her, holding her and telling her over and over that it was all right, there was nothing to worry about, everything was going to be all right. Except it wasn't all right. The pitch black room stank of burnt plastic, Olivia was choking on her sobs, and Elliot wasn't sure anything would be all right ever again.

BACKOUT

Someone is trying to hammer a nail into my head, Elliot thought. Why is someone trying to hammer a nail into my head? He opened his eyes and saw an unfamiliar room. His hip and shoulder hurt from lying on an unfamiliar floor. He was holding an all too familiar woman, and he had no idea why. And someone was trying to hammer a nail into his head.

"Stabler! Benson! Are you in there?" a loud, booming voice sounded from outside. Suddenly Elliot was wide awake. His first thought was to protect Olivia. He jumped up and ran to the door.

"Shhh," he said as quietly but forcibly as possible. "Benson's, she's not ok. She's hurt. She's sleeping. Don't wake her up."

"You Stabler?" a large, wide man in a khaki uniform shouted.

No, I'm Benson, Elliot thought, but he nodded and said "Shhh" again.

"Ok," the man said, in a slightly quieter tone this time. "We got a call this morning from, uh," he flipped through some pages in a small notebook, "a Captain Creegan—"

"Cragen," Elliot interrupted.

"Cragen," the man continued. "Looks like they found your perp and you don't need to speak with these folks after all. Seems there was no need for you to smash their window either," he added.

"Yeah, well you tend to lose your inhibitions about gaining access after you've been walking in a blizzard," Elliot answered, giving the man an angry look. "If you kept the roads clear around here, maybe we wouldn't have needed a place to stay in the first place."

"Hey, calm down there, buddy. No harm done. We just like to take care of our own around here. We'll take care of the damage. I'm Officer Brown, by the way," the man said, offering a large, pudgy hand.

"Stabler," Elliot replied, shaking the hand reluctantly.

"What's that smell?" Brown asked, sticking his head inside the front door. "It smells like something died in here."

"Something did," Elliot replied. Brown gave him a suspicious look. "Nothing human," he added, feeling stupid. "A doll died." Elliot sighed, feeling like an idiot. "I mean, a doll burned. We had a small fire last night, and we used a doll to put it out."

Brown looked incredulous.

"Look," Elliott said, running his hands over his head. "I know how it sounds. I'm tired, I'm sore as hell, and I'm really worried about my partner. Mind if I go check on her?"

"Do we need to send for an ambulance?" Brown asked.

"I don't think so, but she might need some help. Can I please go see how she's doing?"

"Sure thing," Brown replied. "I'll be waiting in the cruiser. Just give a holler if you need me."

Elliot walked back to the living room and looked at Olivia, who was still sleeping on the floor. He was afraid to wake her up. He desperately wanted _his_ Olivia to be there, but he wasn't sure who he'd find. Meanwhile, he surveyed the wreckage. Not too bad. Part of a burned rug, a half-melted doll, and candle wax all over the floor. Nothing that a good cleaning company couldn't fix in half an hour tops. Elliot considered cleaning up the mess himself, to avoid waking Olivia, but he knew Brown was waiting for him, and he also knew that, no matter what time Olivia woke up, she'd either be ok or she wouldn't. He sighed, got down on his knees, and gently tapped Olivia's shoulder.

"Olivia?" he asked, almost too quietly to be heard. She moaned slightly and moved her arm over her face.

"Liv?" he asked, a bit more loudly.

"Huh?" she mumbled, rolling over onto her stomach. "What happened?"

"We fell asleep on the floor, remember? You're probably sore from sleeping on the floor all night."

"I slept on the floor? Here?" Olivia sat up and looked around her. "Where am I? What happened? What are we doing here?" She sounded increasingly anxious with each question.

Elliot reached over and put his hand on her shoulder. "Calm down, Olivia. We're fine. We came here after the accident, remember?"

"Accident? What accident? Are we ok?"

Elliot smiled. "We seem to be," he answered.

Olivia blushed slightly. "I know, that was a stupid thing to say. But I don't really remember coming here. I remember driving in the snow, on the way to the perp's great-aunt and uncle, but then… What's _that_?" she asked, pointing at the melted Candy doll. "It's disgusting. And it smells worse than it looks."

"You don't remember?" asked Elliot.

"Why? Should I?" Olivia started to seem agitated again.

Elliot strengthened his hold on her shoulder. "Nope. No reason why you should remember at all. I forgot, you were asleep when it happened. I, uh, I was using a candle because the power was out, and I dropped it on top of that doll. It melted, and you're right. It's pretty disgusting. Anyhow, I should have cleaned it up, but I was really tired after walking here from the car wreck, so I just left it and went to sleep."

"On the floor? Here? With me?" Olivia asked. "That's strange. Because I remember… I remember… That's odd. I know I remember something, but I can't think what it was. Did anything happen last night?"

"Nothing to speak of," Elliot answered, trying not to sigh with relief. "The weather was awful, we wrecked the car and walked here. There was no power, it got late, we got tired, and fell asleep."

"On the floor," Olivia said again.

"Guess we were too tired to go upstairs," Elliot said, smiling.

"Hmm. I must have been really exhausted," Olivia said. "My side feels like I slept on a bag of nails. And my feet are freezing. Where are my shoes?"

Good question, Elliot thought. He looked around the living room, and spotted the boots sticking out from under the couch.

"Right here," Elliot said, handing them to Olivia. "They were pretty wet, and you were pretty tired, so I took them off for you."

"On the floor," Olivia said, raising an eyebrow. "An awful lot seems to have happened on the floor last night."

"Nothing worth remembering," Elliot said, not quite concealing a smile. "Put on your shoes. There's an Officer Brown outside waiting to take us back to the airport. Turns out Cragen didn't need our evidence in the first place. Wasted trip."

"If you say so," Olivia replied, putting on the wet boots and grimacing. "What should we do with this?" she asked, pointing to the remains of Candy.

"I'd say we look for a dumpster on the way back," said Elliot.

"Fine with me," Olivia replied. "But I'm not touching that thing. You can do the honors."

"My pleasure," Elliot said, as the two of them left the house and walked to the waiting cruiser.

15


End file.
